


almost home

by storytellingape



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018), Crash Pad (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Kitchen (2019)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Kylux Adjacent Ship, M/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23198401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/pseuds/storytellingape
Summary: Life outside the mob is markedly different. Gabriel makes his choice.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Gabriel O'Malley/Flip Zimmerman
Comments: 10
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 2019-08-06 and posted on dreamwidth as response to a prompt.

Gabriel comes back, four months and three days later, once the dust has settled and the itch subsides and he has fended off more enemies from his tail than he can count in one hand. The spare key is still in its rightful place underneath a loose tile on the front porch; the curtains have not been changed, the same ones that fringed the windows when he left last Spring, a canary yellow eyesore with bright blue flowers, a gift hand-sewn by Flip’s bubba.  
  
Gabriel shuts the door with his foot and doesn’t bother being quiet as he wends his way through the minefield in the living room: baby toys on the floor, unwashed mugs of coffee on every surface, the couch covered in a tumult of bedding. It smells like a nursery: sour baby vomit, milk, Flip. Then there’s Stensland’s bassinet in a corner, and inside, when Gabe peers into it, little Stensland himself, bigger than Gabriel last remembers him, though not by much. His face is different when it’s relaxed in sleep, his fine red hair feathering the tiny pillow cushioning his equally tiny head. Flip had once remarked he looked so much like Gabriel whenever he woke them up wailing and red-faced, fussing for a bottle or needing to be changed. Gabriel wondered for a while if that meant Stensland would be tough like him too, cold on the inside and hard, though those things Gabriel learned how to be later in life, out of necessity.  
  
Stensland will grow up soft, Gabriel can already tell, the opposite of everything Gabriel tried his damnest not to be. He has Flip after all for a parent, and Flip may insist on all sorts of boring rules but he also loves the hell out of Stensland, never mind that he isn’t even sure if the kid is his. It is of course; Gabriel can probably even draw a timeline of events leading up to Stensland’s conception, along with a detailed account of how and when he was conceived, if held at gun point. But Flip can be a little obtuse some of the time, shielding himself from the truth even when it’s right in front of him flashing with neon lights and a wearing a top hat too. He trusts Gabriel only half the time; the other half he’s fucking him and hating himself for it.  
  
There’s movement coming from the kitchen, a thud of cabinet doors closing, and someone’s emphatic hiss. Silence follows, then Gabriel hears the kettle start to whistle. He steps inside with quiet feet born of years of long practice, and sure enough, there’s Flip, leaning over the kitchen counter, rifling through the kitchen drawers for a tea packet. He looks like he’s in much more need of a shave than Gabriel, and a shower too by the smell of him. He’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt that he got from the Police Academy, the logo faded from years of use, and a pair of ugly grey sweatpants that Gabriel is sure he burned long long ago, even before Stensland came into the picture. It’s shrunk in the wash, now several sizes too small that it’s almost absurd, sitting tight and snug around Flip’s hips. Not that Gabriel has a problem ogling Flip openly—he’s always been a specimen of a man— it’s the sudden wave of affection that always comes over him that he finds unjustly annoying; he’s not sure what to do with it. He isn’t used to caring for people outside of immediate family and the mob.

Flip looks up, and there’s a scratchy desperation in his eyes that is only broken when he launches into a series of violent sneezing fits.  
  
“I was gonna ask for a kiss, but I changed my mind,” Gabriel jokes as Flip grapples for a nearby paper towel and blows his nose. When he blinks red-rimmed eyes at Gabriel, Gabriel offers him a lopsided smile. “Miss me?” he grins, which is probably the wrong thing to say when he left Flip with nothing but a vague note of apology on the fridge and never remembered to call in the last four months he was away. In his defense, he was protecting Flip and the baby, but he doesn’t want to have to explain himself now when he never had to, to anyone, before.  
  
Except.  
  
“Jesus, don’t look at me like that. If you don’t want me here, just say so. I can go.”  
  
Flip opens his mouth to say something before sneezing again and rubbing his nose against the back of his hand. “Did you wake the baby?” he asks instead, which is a far more diplomatic response than Gabriel had been expecting, also a good sign. Gabriel breathes again, but lingers in the doorway, waiting for Flip to make the first move.  
  
Flip eyes him impassively and lets the silence stretch.  
  
“The baby’s asleep,” Gabriel assures him. “He looks well. You, not so much. You all right?”  
  
“Do I look all right to you?”  
  
“Well,” Gabriel huffs, and bites down on the joke he can feel tickling the back of his throat. He watches Flip pour scalding hot water into a mug, spilling some over the rim and shaking his hand out when he splashes his finger. He swears when he spills some more all over the counter, mopping up the mess with a handful of paper towels. “Shit, shit, shit.”  
Gabriel snorts out a laugh. “You ridiculous fucking man,” he says, and then strides over to take the kettle from him. There’s some resistance but Flip relinquishes his grip eventually. Gabriel sets the kettle in the sink.  
  
Behind him, Flip sneezes again. Once, twice. Rubs his nose frantically with his palm, disgusting.  
  
“Should you be taking care of an infant when you have a cold?” Gabriel asks.  
  
“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Flip says, rolling his eyes. “And Ron came by to babysit. I let him go home, didn’t want to keep him here when he had a big date. He deserves to have a weekend off.” He gives Gabriel a once over, head to toe, then back again, taking in, probably, the leather jacket and the silver cross dangling from a chain around his neck, which Gabriel only wears when he has a job lined up. He’s not religious by any stretch of the imagination but he often liked to think of it as a kind of totem of good luck, God smiling down on him as he delivered unholy vengeance like something from the scripture of St. John of Patmos.  
  
“You should rest,” Gabriel tells him. “I can take over, look after the baby.”  
  
“He has a name,” Flip reminds him, but he doesn’t protest the offer of help and instead trudges back to the living room where he plants himself on the couch cushions and promptly falls asleep in the middle of mumbling something about Gabriel stealing his watch again. He’s an idiot, really, but Gabriel can’t help but run his fingers through his hair a little, tracing the lines on his forehead with the pad of his thumb, the skin warm with fever.  
  
Stensland, meanwhile, fusses in his bassinet. Gabriel, after a great deal of just standing there watching him awkwardly, finally scoops him up with trembling hands, tilting his head at him this way and that. It’s been four months and Stensland’s head is no bigger than a grapefruit, his small face scrunched up in an unhappy expression.  
  
Gabriel rocks him gently back and forth, the way he’s seen Flip do, easing him into a fitful doze that has him squirming against Gabriel’s chest before finally settling. He’s small, so small, his fingernails pale perfect little crescents. There are these little folds of fat underneath his chin and his socks are two different colours and Gabriel can’t remember ever loving anything as much as him. He doesn’t know how to be a father.  
  
He hears Flip moving behind him, yawning and sniffing, careful not to wake Stensland with his noises. “Is he asleep?” he asks in a hushed tone.  
  
Gabriel meets his tired gaze over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, then presses a kiss to his forehead. “Sweet dreams, baby. Papa’s home now.”  
  
Flip looks at him, as if to ask, for good?, and Gabriel grabs him by the hem of his shirt for a kiss because that’s safer, and it feels honest, it feels like the truth; it feels like home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for @trufflepasta on twitter in response to a ko-fi/prompt: Stensland finds out he'll be having a sibling.

* * *

Gabriel finds out he’s pregnant on a Wednesday. He goes to the pharmacy, takes two tests within an hour of each other, then dresses Stensland for a trip to the park where he wreaks havoc on the sand box and hangs upside down from the monkey bars. Afterwards, they sit in the shade and eat french fries dipped in vanilla ice cream. It’s the end of Spring, and the park is quiet like a church, people walking their dogs and some kids kicking a ball back and forth.Stensland is three years old, flush-faced with a riot of red curls. He has Gabriel’s eyes; he has Gabriel’s everything, except his heart because Gabriel is of the opinion that he no longer has one. Stensland’s big heart, and all his soft parts, those he got from Flip.

Two days later and Gabriel still hasn’t found the time to tell him. Flip smells like day-old sweat after a twelve-hour shift, like grass and grit overlaid with the metallic tang of someone else’s blood. When Stensland is finally put to bed, Flip rolls Gabriel onto his stomach and they fuck, sure and steady, Gabriel groaning into the mattress and fisting his cock with his free hand.

Flip squashes him with his weight in the aftermath, breath heavy gusts curtaining Gabriel’s cheek. Gabriel groans, unclenching his muscles. Flip is a heavy weight on top of him, a stone anchoring him to the earth. In another life, the one where Gabriel’s clothes don’t always smell like baby formula and Stensland’s vomit, he would have thrown Flip off after fucking him. But this is his life now and this is his bed. There are framed photos of Stensland on the wall from his second birthday and Gabriel is slowly, slowly learning how to cook, butchering all of Flip’s bubba’s family recipes.

On Saturdays, Flip likes to play the part of All-American husband. Gabriel parks Stensland in front of the TV, ducks into the garage to smoke his morning cigarette in secret and then remembers he’s with child. He busies himself watching Flip mow the lawn instead, raggedy t-shirt damp with patches of sweat at the armpits, a perfect _alpha_ specimen. Maybe if Gabriel hadn’t let his libido get the better of him, he wouldn’t be in this mess, he thinks. The first time Flip had rubbed up against him, pinned him against a brick wall to arrest him, Gabriel had thought: _yes. Yes_ to all the things Flip had yet to ask him.

Flip rubs the sweat off his face on the crook of his arm, then turns when Gabriel hoots and whistles. “Nice view,” Gabriel grins, and Flip grins back, happy, the shape of his eyes half-moons, the first thing, really, that Gabriel ever noticed about him aside from his hands which were big, like the rest of him. “You wanna get me a glass of water?”

“Get it yourself,” Gabriel snorts, and Flip laughs, pressing a kiss to Gabriel’s temple when he passes him on the way to the kitchen.

Flip showers, makes them breakfast that’s not half-bad, then it’s time to play with Stensland in the living room while Gabriel pores over the morning paper and does the crossword. They play on the floor with building blocks. Then it’s bath time and Stensland has to be lured out of the cabinet, half-naked and hysterical. The morning sickness begins three days later.

“You’re pregnant,” Flip says, when Gabriel is straddling him one morning and making good on his promise to keep him in bed. Flip’s hands are warm on Gabriel’s hips, immoveable. Gabriel aches where they’re joined, but it’s a good kind of ache; his knees feel weak and his thighs slippery with slick. All morning Flip had wound him up with his mouth, his traitorous tongue. Gabriel likes this, this still hour before their day begins, sunlight dappling the brown threads of Flip’s hair, their bodies moving in rhythm.

“Yeah,” Gabriel sighs, riding him sweet and slow. “Yeah, I am.”

Flip just breathes underneath him, and it undoes the knot clenched inside Gabriel’s chest, a fist uncurling. “Well,” Flip says, looking straight at him, eyes big and brown, the same way Stensland had looked at Gabriel when he first called him _Papa._ “All right. All right.”

Flip lets out a breathy laugh then lays a hand over Gabriel’s still-flat stomach. “Are we keeping it?” he asks hopefully. “Is it mine?”

Gabriel shoves his hips down, shudders. “What do you think?” he asks, spine taut as a bowstring. Then he comes.

*

They tell Stensland after the second month when a roll of stomach shows. Gabriel blames the donuts and the pickles and the peanut-butter and hot-sauce concoction Flip whips up for him at midnight. Stensland presses his hands along Gabriel’s stomach, prodding gently, then presses his ear to Gabriel’s belly button.

“You’re gonna be a big brother, Stens,” Flip tells him, seating him in their laps.

And Stensland, sweet as strawberries and cream, just scrunches his nose and sneezes.


End file.
